“You know,” he said, “if I find out you’re takin’ advantage of the situation—”
“Fuck you, Jack,” I said. “Call Frank and tell him Sammy needs to get himself a new boy. I’ve already been through enough shit—”
“Okay, okay, take it easy,” he said, sitting forward. “Christ, kid, don’t lose your temper with me.”
“You know me better than to accuse me of any shit, Jack.”
“You’re right, Eddie,” he said. “I do. I’m sorry. I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Yeah,” I said, grudgingly, “okay.”
“Go ahead to Tahoe, do whatever you gotta do,” he told me.
I got up to leave.
“Hey, kid.”
I turned.
“What shit have you been through already?”
“Forget it,” I said. “It’s nothin’.”
It was bad enough that Thomas, the driver, had knowledge of the bodies and where we’d hidden them. That made four of us: me, Thomas, Sammy and Jerry. Thomas wouldn’t say a word because he had killed them in front of three witnesses. And the rest of us would stay dummied up.
There was no need to clue Entratter in.
Jerry said, “You’re late,” as I approached him in the lobby. “The limo’s outside.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I got held up.”
“What was her name?”
I looked at him sharply, then realized he didn’t know anything, he was just kidding around.
“Very funny,” I said. “Come on, let’s go.”
We left the Sands and got into the limo for the drive to the airport.
During the drive I thought about Caitlin. My track record with broads was pretty good, but that didn’t mean I was used to young chicks coming to my room, throwing themselves at me.
After we’d made love, once we were lying side by side on the bed, I had to ask.
“Have we ever—”
“No, Eddie,” she said, turning toward me and putting her hand on my chest. “Never before, but maybe again?”
“Sure,” I said, “soon.”
“Soon?” she asked, sliding her hand down beneath the sheet, “or now?”
She took hold of me and, to her delight and my surprise, I was able to say, “Okay, now …”
“You have any breakfast?” Jerry asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“No,” I said, “it’s too early. You?”
“I had somethin’ last night, and then again this mornin’,” he said, happily. “I love this town. Twenty-four-hour room service.”
Like a kid in a candy store.
Thirty-five
FROM THE HELIPAD NEAR the Cal Neva we went directly to Harrah’s. I didn’t know if Frank was in his cabin, or at home in Palm Springs, but my only concern at the moment was talking to Sammy.
I knocked on the door to his room and when he opened it I said, “Hey, Sam.”
“Eddie, hey Jerry,” he greeted. “Come on in. I was just having breakfast.”
Jerry closed the door and we followed Sammy to the sofa and sat down in front of a tray of food.
“Pot of coffee here,” he said. “Anybody want a cup?”
“No, thanks.”
Jerry hesitated, then said, “No.”
“You cats wanna fill me in while I eat?”
I told him about moving the bodies, and where to. Also about cleaning my house, but forgetting there was a bullet left in the wall.
“You still don’t know if the cops went in your house or not?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “but if they had I’d’ve expected them to come lookin’ for me at the Sands.”
“You’re probably right. I haven’t heard a thing yet, from anybody,” he said. “Maybe they’ve given up?”
“ ’Scuse me, Mr. Davis?” Jerry said. “I don’t know all that much about what’s goin’ on, but if there’s money involved I doubt the blackmailers would give up.”
“But it looks like things have gone wrong in a big way,” Sammy said.
“All that would do is make them ask for even more,” Jerry suggested.
The fifty thousand Sammy had given me was hidden in a safe at the Sands. I wondered how quick he’d be able to put his hands on more. Even for somebody like Sammy Davis Jr. fifty grand is fifty grand.
“I see,” Sammy said.
“Sammy,” I said, “we need to talk—I mean, seriously talk.”
“About what, Eddie?”
“About what’s really goin’ on,” I said.
It took a lot for me to ask. Even though I counted Dean and Frank as friends, the starstruck aspect of our relationship hadn’t gone away. It was even more so with Sammy. We were more acquaintances than friends at this point; I had tremendous respect for him as an entertainer, but this was a conversation that was going to have to take place man to man.
And I hoped I wasn’t about to piss him off.
Thirty-six
SAMMY PUT DOWN HIS FORK. He finished chewing what was in his mouth before speaking.
“What are you sayin’, Eddie?”
“I’m saying that there may have been some stuff before that was none of my business, but that’s all changed now. Too many people are dead. What’s goin’ on, Sam?”
Sammy sat back on the sofa. He looked as if he was trying to decide how to play this. He could get angry and tell me to leave, or he could try telling the truth.
“I have this hobby,” he said, finally.
Did I want to hear what his hobby was?
“What kinda hobby?” Jerry asked.
“Photography,” Sammy said. “I like to take photos. It started when Jerry Lewis gave me a camera as a gift a few years ago. Then, when I was doing Mr. Wonderful in New York I met Milt Lewis and he taught me a little bit about the proper lighting, angles and such. I got to be pretty good at it.”
Sammy stood up and began pacing.
“I started carrying cameras with me everywhere,” he went on. “Taking pictures of everyone.” He turned and looked at me. “I even have some shots of you, from last year.”
That surprised me, because I never saw him with a camera.
“You got any pictures of me?” Jerry asked.
“No,” Sammy said, “not you, big guy. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Jerry said. “I don’t like havin’ my picture took.”
“Are you serious?” Sammy asked. “Man, that’s like bein’ immortalized for all time. You get your picture taken it’s like you’ll look like that forever. Frozen in time. You know what I mean?”
I looked at Jerry, who was staring at Sammy with no expression on his face.
“I don’t know if I want to always look like this,” he said, finally.
Sammy stared at Jerry for a few seconds, then smiled, genuinely amused.
“I can dig you, man,” he said, laughing. “I don’t know if I wanna look like this forever, either.”
They both looked at me.
“Hey,” I said, “I like the way I look now.”
Sammy and Jerry shrugged and then Sammy walked over to the window and stared out. I knew he could see the marquee with his name on it. I noticed driving in that underneath SAMMY DAVIS JR. they had added SPECIAL ADDED ATTRACTION LAURINDO ALMEIDA. I knew he was a Brazilian classical guitarist. Years later, in 1966, they’d make an album together, but who knew that then?
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” He looked at me over his shoulder. “Oh, hell, Eddie, to make a long story short, I took a picture that somebody wants to sell back to me.”
“A picture of what?”
He turned and looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Sam—”
“I’m missing a roll of film,” he said, “that has a picture that is … personally embarrassing. I’m trying to buy it back before it shows up in the papers. I don’t really wanna say more about it, Eddie.”
“So it’s not one photo we’re tryin’ to buy back?”
“
It’s one photo I want,” he said, “but there’s twenty-four on the roll.”
“What if they’ve developed the whole roll?”
“It’s not actually a roll, it’s an envelope with the negatives from that roll,” Sammy said. “That’s how they know they have something to sell.”
I looked at Jerry.
“I’m lost, Mr. G. Wanna drink?”
“Sure, why not?” I asked. “This whole thing’s got me drinkin’ a lot earlier, these days.”
“Bourbon?”
“Please.”
“Mr. Davis?”
“Yes, thanks, Jerry.”
Jerry went and built three bourbons in a moment that was definitely filled with déjà vu.
As he handed us our drinks I said, “Sammy, don’t you know what else is on that roll?”
He sat back down on the sofa, so Jerry and I once again took our armchairs. I couldn’t help thinking we were having our own summit, only without the Leader, Frank Sinatra.
“I know it’s the envelope with the photo I want,” he said, “the last one. I’ve been wracking my brain tryin’ to remember what else is on it….”
“Where was it taken from?”
“My home in L.A. I have a darkroom. I develop my own pictures.”
“So somebody with access to your home took them?”
“Somebody broke in while we weren’t home.”
“And that was all they took?”
“Yeah, that envelope and the gun.” He shook his head. “Like I told you before, I’ve been waitin’ for one or both of them to come back and haunt me.”
“Don’t you … keep a file? Catalog your film?”
“I was starting to,” he said, “but I hadn’t gotten to all of them yet.”
“You must know something. What year did you take the photos?”
“It was last year.”
“And where did you take photos last year?”
“All over,” he said. “Vegas, here, L.A., New York, Europe …”
“What kind of photo would be worth fifty grand?” I said aloud.
“It’s a … candid shot. Like I said, personal.”
“Candid?”
“I like to catch people … unaware.”
“Like me?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “most of the shots I took of you were candid, but …”
“… but I’m certainly not worth fifty thousand dollars.”
“Few people are.”
“But most of the people you photograph are famous,” I said. “Frank, Dino, Joey, Peter …”
“… Jerry Lewis, Kim Novak, Nat Cole, Buddy Hackett, Tony Bennett, May—”
“And some, like me, who aren’t entertainers?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Businessmen?”
“Sure,” he said, “producers, directors, money men—”
“Money men?”
“The men who put up the cash for movies, records—”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you meant … mob money men.”
“I don’t usually associate with mob money men,” he said.
“But you have performed at clubs owned by the mob,” I said. “The Copa, the Ambassador?”
“Well, yes—”
“And you took photos?”
“Yes.”
“So there could be some candid shot of, say, MoMo Giancana on there?”
“I suppose …”
“Or …”
I stopped myself. “Or what?”
“Just a thought,” I said. “So many men have died already, and it can’t be for your personal photo. There’s got to be somethin’ else on there….”
“What’s your thought?” Sammy asked.
“Last year, when you were all here for Ocean’s Eleven … when JFK was here … did you take photos then?”
“Yes, but … I didn’t take any shots of the President.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He said. “In fact, the Secret Service wouldn’t let me, even though he wasn’t president yet.”
“Too bad.”
“Why too bad?”
“Well, if you’d taken a photo of Kennedy when he was … enjoying himself …”
“Oh, I get you,” Sammy said. “That would be worth a lot of bread.”
“A lot,” I repeated. “If that was what it was they would’ve asked for a hell of a lot more than fifty grand, don’t you think?”
“Well, yeah, but …”
“But what?”
“If you’re right,” he pointed out, “they wouldn’t be askin’ for it from me, would they?”
Thirty-seven
WHEN JERRY AND I LEFT Sammy’s room we walked down the hall to the elevator.
“Jerry, we can’t talk about this when we’re around other people,” I said. “The drivers, the helicopter pilots … nobody.”
“I getcha, Mr. G.,” he said. “Mum’s the word.”
“That way we can control who else hears about this.”
The elevator doors opened and we got in. There were two people already there—a man and a woman who weren’t together—and we picked up a few more along the way. When we got to the main floor we let them get out first, then followed.
“Whataya think, Mr. G.?” he asked.
“I can’t figure out how somebody knew to break into Sammy’s house in the first place,” I said. “If we could figure that out, we might get some answers.”
“So how do we figure it out?”
“We’ll have to think about it once we get back to Vegas,” I said. “While we’re in the car, and the copter, we’ll talk about something else entirely.”
“Like what?”
As we approached the limo I said, “Cars, women, sports … anything but what we’ve just been talking about.”
Before we got into the car Jerry said, “You know what I think the photo might be?”
“What?”
“A naked picture of May Britt. That’d be somethin’ Mr. Davis would pay to get back. Man, a picture of that blond babe with all that pale skin … She’s kinda like Marilyn, ya know?”
I didn’t say anything as we got into the car, but from the beginning I had been thinking the same thing. And then when Sammy said something about candid photos I was even more sure that was it.
I knew that May Britt had not made a film since she married Sammy Davis Jr. In fact, her film career would virtually end because of the marriage. I also knew, at the time this was all happening, she was about four months pregnant.
I could only wonder what they’d gone through to be together. But while the effects on her were obvious, the effects on Sammy were not. He must have been holding everything inside, where no one else could see. Where he could suffer alone.
We didn’t talk about it again until we were in my room at the Sands.
Jerry sat on the bed and looked at me, then looked around.
“Can’t you get yerself a swankier setup?”
“I guess we could go back to my house,” I said. “If the cops were lookin’ for me they would have come here by now.”
“I guess.”
“Then again, we might be safer here,” I added. “After all, they obviously know where I live—whoever ‘they’ are.”
“What’s this?” Jerry asked.
“What?”
He picked up an envelope from the night table. It had my name written on the front. I grabbed it from his hand and stared at it.
“It’s the same kinda envelope,” I said, “and the same handwriting as the first note. The one stuck to my door in Tahoe.”
“Another note.”
I opened the envelope.
“It’s instructions for the next meeting,” I said.
“Where’s the meet, this time?”
“Reno. After dark, again.” I looked at him. “Why Reno?”
“To take you away from a place you know?” he asked.
“They could’ve said Tahoe, for that.”
“Then may
be it’s to take you someplace that they know.”
I picked up the phone and called the front desk. I got a man I knew named Ted.
“Did anyone send anything up to my room?” I asked. “Like an envelope?”
“Nope,” he said, “I don’t have anything for you.”
Ted’s not the smartest kid on the block.
“No, Ted, there’s already an envelope in my room,” I said. “I want to know how it got here. Would you check with the bell captain, see if anyone brought it up?”
“Sure, Mr. Gianelli.”
“And call me right back.”
I hung up.
“What about the maid?” Jerry asked.
“Good thought.” This time I called housekeeping and made the same request. Now we just had to wait for a call back.
I sat on the bed next to him.
“The only people we know of who know what’s gone on are you, me, Sammy and that driver, Thomas.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“Nothing,” I said. “He’s still doing what he does, I guess. Driving.”
“He’s got somethin’ on us, now.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got more on him,” I reminded him. “He killed those men.”
“Well, two of ’em,” Jerry said. “You killed the third.”
“The point is we’ve got something on each other. And he doesn’t know where we are right now. I’m trying to figure out how they got this envelope here.”
“Has anybody been in this room but you?” he asked.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said, closing my eyes.
“What?”
“Caitlin.”
“Who’s Caitlin?”
I looked at him and said, “Exactly. Who is Caitlin?”
Thirty-eight
I EXPLAINED, as briefly as possible, about Caitlin.
“You got laid?” he asked, breaking it down into even simpler terms. “Yes,” I said, “but I should have suspected something when she came to my room.”
“Don’t you, uh … I just thought you had a lot of, um …”
“I do okay with women, Jerry, but this girl is twenty-four years old,” I said. “I really don’t think she came to my room just because she had to have me.”
“So you think she’s part of the gang?”
“If there is a gang. There’s one way to find out,” I said. I called down to the employment department and asked about Caitlin. I listened to the reply and hung up.
Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand) Page 11